Matter Of Fate
by Anime Girl23
Summary: The Time Masters used the Oculus to manipulate the timeline, but there were things that even they couldn't touch; events that simply had to happen. When the team chases an aberration through the 80's, Mick saves a little boy he didn't meet until he was fourteen.


Matter Of Fate  
One-shot

He hated the 80's.

Mick muttered to himself as he walked, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket and wind whipping around him like a reminder that it wasn't quite summer yet. Spring had gotten enough of a foothold to melt the snow they got every damn year, but they were still a ways off from the heat that used to dry out the crops on the farm.

It didn't matter. They wouldn't be around long, anyway. They only had to stay long enough for the brainiacs to pinpoint the aberration that was making Gideon's readings go funny. Find it. Fix it. Get the fuck out of there. He'd take a nice long drink—or six—once the Waverider was cruising through the temporal zone.

He'd need to hit a liquor store before they left, he thought as he trudged down the side of the road. He was sick of Gideon's recreations and Snart and him had blown through Rip's stash ages ago. He'd never been a big drinker, but Len always liked a good glass of whiskey.

Had. Had liked.

He cringed at the reminder. Len was dead, blown to bits like the big damn hero he'd never wanted to be. He didn't like whiskey anymore. You don't like jack shit when you're dead. The Snart working with the Legion probably still liked it, but he didn't let himself dwell on the thought long. They still weren't sure what version of his partner Thawne and his merry band of assholes had picked up. Past. Different earth.

Stein suggested once that the Flash's last timeline fuckup may have created an alternate version.

Ray asked if that would make Snart an aberration they had to get rid of. No one said anything for a long time after that.

Either way, it wasn't him. The Len they'd travelled with—saved the stupid _world_ with—was gone.

His hands curled into fists like it would stop the needy twitching that said he needed his lighter. Not yet. Later. He still had to get back to the ship and see if they'd come up with anything. His lead had been nothing but a dead end.

Then again, the others would probably still be a while. None of them were familiar with Central City the way he was, especially not the parts of it that edged along Keystone. He probably had the time to stop for a few minutes and give himself a little cool down.

The lighter was barely out of his pocket when he heard the screech of tires skidding.

A crash.

Something hitting the water.

He took off, his need for fire forgotten as he darted towards Keller's Bridge. The thing was a piece of crap, had been since before he was born and people stopped caring about keeping up with it. It had only gotten worse over the years. The thing was a death trap.

The wooden barriers were broken when he reached the bridge, gaping and huge and, _fuck_ , why didn't they ever tear this stupid thing down?

He ran over to the edge, heart pounding in his chest, and he couldn't see the car. He couldn't see the damn thing, but there were bubbles coming out of the water like some kind of sign screaming _look who's drowning_.

He dropped his jacket and dove.

The water was freezing.

He could see the dying taillights through the murky water, like some last cry for help. Too far down, he thought as he pushed back to the surface. His lungs were already burning, too damn old to do a half-mile dash and a dive into the water. He needed air.

He sucked it in as he broke the surface—one, two, three big gasps—and went back down. He'd never been a strong swimmer. He'd grown up tending to livestock and once he was older… He'd never gone. He'd had jail time and cons and Len didn't like the water. They'd never gone. He'd never gone. There wasn't a reason to. Water killed fire, anyway. That was enough reason to stay clear of it.

Getting to the car was harder without the momentum of the dive and his muscles burned at the strain. He wasn't going back up. Not yet.

He grabbed at a door handle the second he was close enough, anchoring himself as he tried to pull it open. The door didn't budge. He went for a rock, lungs ready to burst, and he cursed every stupid fucking cigarette he smoked during his life.

He banged his hand against the window in a warning for her to lean back.

She shook her head, brown curls floating up around her as she pointed a dark finger to the backseat. There was a kid behind her, strapped in—unconscious or dead, Mick wasn't sure—and he understood.

She laid a hand on her own chest and shook her head again. _Save him_ , she mouthed, and Mick knew she wasn't gonna make it out. She wasn't trying to hold her breath. She just wanted the kid safe.

He nodded, guilt churning his stomach, and broke the back window instead, wrenching the door open the second the pressure was released. She was holding her son's hand as he undid the seatbelt, pushing him towards Mick as much as she could.

 _Get him out. Save my boy._

He reached a hand out to her like he was begging her to shimmy into the back and get out, but her hand slipped free of the kid's and his heart sank. No time. He couldn't get the kid and her out together. Getting the kid out would be hard enough. If he tried to pull her too, they'd all drown.

He pointed up and pointed back to her. He'd come back. He'd get her out as soon as he got the kid up.

She smiled at him like her own heart was breaking and closed her eyes.

He didn't look for a pulse. Told himself that he'd come back once he got the kid to shore, but he knew better. The water was too cold and there was only so much time before a body drowned. Probably less, considering she wasn't trying to hold her breath anymore.

He didn't think the kid had been trying at all.

An apology sat heavy on his tongue, but he didn't open his mouth. He thought it instead as he used the car to kick off towards the surface. The kid was a dead weight in his arms, small, but heavy enough to make the swim difficult.

He broke the surface with another big gasp of his own, anxious eyes watching the kid, but nothing happened. The kid's head lolled, lips blue and face too pale, and he swore.

Every damn part of him was hurting by the time he dragged them both to the muddy shore. He wasn't breathing. The kid wasn't fucking breathing.

He tilted the boy's head back as he pulled at fuzzy memories of Len teaching him CPR, as high strung as he ever was.

" _Why the fuck do I gotta learn this, anyway? You plannin' on swimming across the Atlantic?"_

" _Lisa."_

Always overprotective to the point of being insane, but he'd made Mick learn. Reminded him that drowning wasn't the only reason someone might stop breathing and that if they were going to stick together, he had to know Lisa would be safe with Mick too.

He'd never actually had to use it before.

He was pretty sure he was messing it up. The counts were wrong and he didn't know how to compensate his strength with the compressions. Broken ribs were normal, but the kid was a string bean. Too hard and he'd crush his chest.

"Come on," he muttered as he breathed air into water-filled lungs. "Fucking _breathe_."

He shouldn't have hesitated. He should have just gone instead of trying to get the woman to follow. It was too late for her now, anyway. He didn't have Snart's weird ability to time things to the second, but he knew it had been too long. It was going to be too long for the kid too if he didn't fucking-

The kid coughed, water sputtering from his mouth, and Mick scrambled to get him on his side. "Get it all out," he told him as he patted the boy's back. "Come on…" He turned his head back towards the water, warring with himself. Maybe there was still time. If the kid could survive with smaller lungs…

His gut knew. Years of watching Len time things out and even more years examining timelines, something in him knew she was gone. Like something in him could feel a person's timeline ending, he knew.

He bowed his head into the kid's curls and mouthed that he was sorry. It didn't do any good. She was still dead.

His muscles screamed as he scooped the boy into his arms. They needed help. No cells yet, but maybe they'd get lucky and someone would have a car phone. He'd take him back to the Waverider if he had to, but they were still a good mile away and he wanted to get the kid to a doctor.

Neither of them spoke as he got them up the hill and back onto the bridge. He just clung to Mick, wet nails digging into his neck and whimpering against the pain coming from busted ribs. Mick set him down against a part of the barrier that looked sturdy and grabbed his jacket off the ground.

"What's your name?" he asked as he wrapped it around the kid's shoulders.

"Leo."

Mick froze. Hands hovering near the kid—near _Leo_ —and things clicked into place. Familiar eyes. The curls he hadn't seen since they got out of juvie and Len took a pair of clippers to them. He hadn't seen him like that in thirty years. Hadn't seen pictures of him this young or…

Fuck. His _mom_.

He looked back towards the water as bile crawled up his throat. Oh, God.

He should have gone back. He should have _tried_.

"Mick!" He looked up at Sara's call, shaken, and she ran over. "What happened?"

"Car went off the bridge," he said, voice rough, as his eyes stayed trained on the water. It was still. "Got the kid out."

"Where's my mom?" Leo asked and Mick couldn't fucking look at him.

"Mick-"

"It's _Snart_ ," he hissed at her. She went pale.

A small hand touched his arm and he swallowed back the nausea as he looked over. Len didn't cry. He'd seen him cry exactly twice in thirty years and both times were over in a minute. Hands scrubbed over his face. A big pull of breath. Leonard Snart didn't cry.

But this kid did. His eyes were glassy as he stared at Mick, terrified, and Mick remembered that he was eight. Eight years old and… _Fuck_.

"She's dead, isn't she?" Leo asked, too fucking young to be able to ask a question like that.

Mick didn't answer.

Leo broke down in tears.

Mick pulled him against his chest, fingers tangled in wet curls, and turned his eyes to Sara. "Go get help," he said. "There's a farm a half-mile down the road. Hell of a lot closer than the ship."

She looked at him, sadness and understanding and fingers twitching like she wanted to reach out and touch. She ran instead and he turned back to Leo.

"I want my mom," Leo sobbed, childish and vulnerable. _Scared_. Shit, Mick knew what Leo would get sent home to, what he'd grow up with. He knew how the rest of this kid's damn life was going to turn out and he couldn't do a damn thing about it.

He wasn't sure how long it was before he heard the sirens. Instinct made him want to run at the noise, but he didn't move until paramedics were taking Leo from his arms. Leo didn't reach for him. He didn't scream. He stopped crying, though, like too many people—too many cops that knew his dad—was enough to break him out of it.

It made Mick want to snatch him back and take him away. Protect him.

"The car went over. His mom's still down there," he told an officer, voice rough. "I couldn't… There wasn't time. He gonna be okay?"

"We'll get him checked out," the cop said. "What's your name?"

"Michael," he murmured, eyes still locked on where Leo was sitting on the back of the ambulance. He wouldn't let go of the jacket for them to wrap him up in something warmer.

"Your last name?"

"Wynters." He spelled it out as Sara came up on his side and laid a hand on his bicep. "He wasn't breathing when I got him out," Mick added. "I don't know how long it took me to get him breathing. I think I broke a couple ribs."

"He'll be examined. Now, Mr. Wynters, you're going to need to get checked out too-"

"I can take him to the hospital," Sara offered. "The kid's more important and my car's just up the road."

The cop looked ready to argue, but he snapped his mouth shut when another officer came over. "It's Lewis' kid," the newcomer said, low. "We gotta call him in."

"He's _working_ ," the cop hissed as he pulled the officer away.

"Mob work," he muttered to Sara as he pushed her to start walking. They couldn't stay. They had to get out of there before people looked at them too long.

"Did you know?" she asked once they were a safe distance away. "Is that why you wanted to be down here?"

Mick shook his head. "Thought one of my dad's old poker buddies would know about the artifact. He used to get the weirdest shit in his pawn shop. I was just takin' the shortcut back."

"But Leonard-"

"-never told me," he said. "Only ever said his mom died when he was eight. I always figured it was his old man or she got sick. He wasn't all that big on life stories."

"You never knew about the accident?"

"I knew he was scared of water and that he should have been taking a damn Xanax every time he got in a car. Always thought it was just a quirk or something. The guy was weird." He huffed softly. "He got us caught a couple times because he wouldn't use an escape route that had us going over a bridge." He slipped his hand into his pocket, reaching for the comforting, familiar feel of his lighter, but the pocket was empty. He'd had it earlier before the… He stopped, turning back in the direction they'd come from.

"Mick? What is it?"

"My lighter. It was in my jacket."

She frowned. "So? It was just a lighter."

"Snart gave it to me," he mumbled before he broke off into a chuckle. "He gave me my own damn lighter."

"He gave you the lighter you gave him," she mused and laughed. "Time travel."

"Time loops," he corrected absently.

"You okay?" she asked and looked guilty when he turned to her, surprised. "We all lost him, but it was hardest on you. We should have been asking a lot more often."

He made a noise in the back of his throat, uncomfortable, and kept his eyes forward. "Stein talk to you?"

"No. But seeing him that young and knowing what happens…"

"You don't know the half of it."

"I know," she said. "I'm not much of a captain if I don't make sure my entire crew's doing okay and, now, Snart's with the Legion-"

"That's not Snart."

"Some version of him is with the Legion," she rephrased, "and no one has asked if you're okay."

"I'm fine."

"You're drinking." She sighed. "No one talks about it. About him or about what happened with you last year. We shouldn't forget."

He stiffened at the reminder of Chronos, like they'd just plowed over the line into bad territory. "We're not talking about that," he said.

"I'm still sorry."

He believed her, saw the genuine regret on her face, and he got it. He did. Uncomfortable as he was with the conversation, he could let go of the crap the last few months, because he was too damn old and too fucking tired to keep holding onto grudges. He reached out and gave her shoulder a squeeze.

She sighed. "He could have died. If we hadn't been here for the aberration, he _would_ have died. If you hadn't been here to pull him out, everything he did later… It never would have happened."

He hummed around the lump in his throat.

When they got back, they didn't tell the others what happened.

* * *

"You're just another big, damn hero, aren't you?"

Mick grunted at the hallucination. "I'm not drunk enough for you to be showing up."

He nodded at the beer sitting on the table. "So get drinking," he said as he leaned in towards him. "Or you can go back to the bridge."

Mick snorted and reached for the beer instead. "Why the fuck would I do that?"

"Because you're sober and you're still talking to me," Len said. "I'm in your head, Mick. I'm only telling you to go back because you want to."

"I'm not doing that psychology bullshit with you."

"You're just arguing with yourself," he heard Len say, but the other man was gone when he looked back.

* * *

Sara watched him leave the ship and gave him a sad smile like she knew where he was going. She probably did. On the walk back, she'd asked if he thought some things were simply meant to happen, if he was always meant to be a time traveler. "There was no one else there," she'd pointed out. "No one else could have pulled him out."

A boy he couldn't have saved unless he'd joined the Waverider, but that he wouldn't actually meet for another six years.

A lighter he'd gotten as a gift, lost and put back into the timeline to be given to a younger version of himself until he couldn't figure out where the damn thing had come from in the first place.

The complexities of it made his head hurt. He muttered about time loops and paradoxes until he could see the bridge at the bottom of the hill. The gap in the barrier had been cordoned off with yellow police tape—no more effective than the rotting boards had been—and cranes had been pulled up along the water's edge to retrieve the car.

He could see it in the shallow water of the shore, faded paint drying in the sun and people milling around. The body was gone and he gave a sigh of relief. He hadn't wanted to see it.

"Look at you being the hero."

He jumped at the voice, spun on his heel, and dropped his hand to his heat gun. Not another hallucination, he realized as he saw the goggles hanging around Snart's neck. Voice too cold and just a little too nasal. It was the one walking around with the Legion. Seeing him still hurt.

"What?" he asked, voice tight. "Reminiscing?" It was cruel, too low a blow considering what was happening at the bottom of the hill. He didn't take it back.

Snart's eyes went steely, but the look bled out as he looked past Mick and towards the car below. "I wanted to see who pulled me out." Well, that nixed the other-Earth theory they'd been bouncing around. Either past or alternate, then, Mick thought.

"Congrats," he said, "you got your answer."

"I kept the jacket," Snart said softly, like he wasn't even talking to Mick, and for a second, he sounded like the Len Mick had known. It was like a punch to the gut. "It's in a trunk at the safe house on Butler."

"And what? You never figured out it was me?"

"I don't remember most of what happened," Snart muttered. "She was trying to leave him. The brakes…" He stiffened and shook his head like he was shaking himself out of a daze. The cold look came back. "This doesn't change anything."

"Didn't expect it to," he grunted and turned to leave. Snart's hand hadn't once moved to the gun sitting in its thigh holster and he didn't think he was about to go for it. He'd shoot his way out if he had to.

"You were always gonna be a hero, Mick. Some things are written in stone."

He turned back, brows furrowed, and staring.

Snart smirked back at him, eyes glowing a familiar blue before he hid them behind his goggles.

Mick stared after him as he left, frozen.

The End


End file.
